Chapter 50
Beatrice marveled at her granddaughter’s rendition of “Silent Night.” The child could sing. Where did she get that from? And what’s more, to have the courage to stand up in front of a whole church full of mostly strangers? My, my, my. Tears pricked at Beatrice’s eyes. Jon knew it; as if by psychic connection, he placed his arm around her in a comforting gesture.
She leaned into Vera’s ear. “We need to get her voice lessons.”
Vera waved her off and smiled. But Beatrice would see to it. Yes, she would.
She mentally checked off all the things she had to do before tomorrow’s bazaar. She thought she had it under control. But that Lizzy. Oh, sweet Lawd, what she did to Beatrice’s old heart. Her brain couldn’t think quite clearly enough right now. She was swimming in a glowing sea of grandmotherness.
After the show, the preschool had cookies and drinks for the family members. As Beatrice took in the crowd, she noticed only a few families she didn’t know. But everybody looked at least a little familiar. She was certain if she asked some of the folks she didn’t recognize, she’d at least know their people.
“Nice tree,” Jon said, tilting his head in the direction of a completely white tree with red ribbons tied around it.
“I prefer natural trees,” she said. “Who ever heard of a white tree? Besides I like my Christmas to smell like Christmas. And that includes having a live pine tree.”
“I like any color tree, especially my pink one,” Vera said, coming up beside her mother.
“Hmph,” Beatrice said. “Where’s Elizabeth?”
“She and Eric are getting more cookies. You know, I think she likes him.”
“Too bad that Bill couldn’t make it,” replied Beatrice.
“I know, Mama, and it’s getting to be more and more like that. He doesn’t seem interested in this kind of thing. He had to administer a test or something today. Last day of classes.”
“Hmph. Well, it was sure a nice little concert,” Beatrice said, not wanting to dwell on the missing father of the year.
Beatrice and Jon then said their good-byes and went home. As they were walking, tiny little flakes of snow began falling.
“Just lovely,” Jon said. “I love the snow here.”
“Me too,” Beatrice said.
When they rounded the corner, she noticed a couple of men standing at her gate. One had his hands on his hips and was looking up and down the sidewalk.
“I know who that is,” she said.
“Now, Bea, let us comport ourselves,” Jon said.
“Comport? The FBI comes to my house with false information—”
“Hush, my love,” Jon said, holding up his finger to his mouth. “It wasn’t their mistake. It was the cruise security error. Be nice.”
They walked up to the gate and opened it.
“Can I help you?” Beatrice said.
“I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Beatrice said. “What do you want?”
“We wondered if you have the time to answer a few questions,” one of the agents said.
“I do—but not much. It’s a few days until Christmas, you know.”
Jon moved ahead and unlocked the front door, letting the group stream in to Beatrice’s Victorian house.
After they were situated in her living room, one agent asked her if she had kept the death report she’d received the day they delivered it.
“No, sir. I threw it in the trash where it belongs,” she said, trying not to be too bitter or brusque sounding, which was a challenge to be sure.
“Have you put the trash out for the local authority?”
“Yes, he came yesterday and carried it all away.”
“I was afraid of that,” one of them said.
“Did you happen to read it at all?” the other man said.
Beatrice thought a moment. Did she? “No, I don’t believe I did. What’s the problem?”
“There may have been some discrepancies on the two reports. We’re following up, investigating Ahoy Security,” one explained.
“It’s about time someone investigated them. Do you know the chief of security thinks he’s a vampire?” Beatrice said.
One man coughed; the other’s jaw clenched as if he was trying not to laugh.
“No, ma’am, we did not.”